


Carrying Capacity

by luvliv2004



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11901786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvliv2004/pseuds/luvliv2004
Summary: Ryan Ross and his family go to a family museum while his cousins come to visit and come home with a ghost. Ryan's dad sees the spirt as a cash cow while Ryan sees another use for the lost soul.





	Carrying Capacity

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story came from a scholastic short story called "The Ghost Boy." Who's author is unknown to me. TWe read this story in my school and although the original is centered around the ghost of a child during he time of the Transcontinental Railroad, I just thought that the basic premise of the story would work great in a Fanfiction.

When my cousin, Elizabeth, told us that her and her sons would be in town from Kansas the following week, my father thought he might have been able to find some sort of inspiration from them.

Ever since mom died, he’s been in what he calls a “Creative Desert.” His writing really has been terrible for the last five years. He says he’s just navigating his way through the dry sands of plot holes and clichés until he finds his next New York Time’s Bestseller: His oasis.

I’ve never liked people. Children are the worst. Just ask my dad. He’ll tell you all about how he tried to socialize me as a young boy, and that he just doesn’t know what’s wrong. I’ll tell you whats wrong, dad. It’s you.

***

I perched on the couch by the front window of my house and waited for her to pull up onto our driveway. It had been so long since I had seen Elizabeth. I don’t even know what kind of car she’d be driving or what ridiculous color she had died her hair.

Over the calming Glenn Miller that played in my earbuds, I remembered my childhood with her. Elizabeth and her brother were always at my house when I was in elementary school. Even before I was born, their sucky stepdad was awful, and when they would get into fights with their mom, my dad always welcomed them with open arms to spend the night with us.

I just remember how cool I thought she was. She’d be the one who would play cars with me when my mom was at work and my dad was in his office writing. As a young child, I never understood why it was such a bad thing that she had gotten pregnant at 16. Now, I see that this mistake of hers was a real pain in the ass.

Those fucking kids of hers were a handful. The older one, Chance, didn’t speak; he mumbled. The younger one, Derek, was the anti-Christ. Needless to say, I was not happy when I found out they would be staying with us for nearly a week.

Finally, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a white foreign SUV circling the cul de sac. It parked on our driveway and I took in my last few moments of peace before they came in. I watched them through the window as Elizabeth stepped out of her car. Chance followed with a jump. He couldn’t just politely walk out of the car, he had to jump. He was wearing a t-shirt, khaki shorts, and those annoying little boy sandals. His brother followed. The three year old wasn’t that much smaller than his seven year old brother.

Elizabeth went around to the trunk and let out their dog. I think it was a border collie, like lassie. 

They disappeared from my view as they approached the front door and rung the bell. Fuck. There goes my summer. 

“Shit!” My dad called from the other room, “They're here.” He walked over to the front room where I was. “Why didn’t you warn me?” He asked as he saw me laying on the couch.

I just shrugged.

“Hey!” Elizabeth squealed as my dad opened the door. “Uncle George! It’s been forever!”

He pulled her into a hug. “It has. How are you?”

“Good.”

I still went unseen in the corner, not making any noise or attempts to move and greet our guests.

“How are my favorite nephews?” He asked as the boys ran up to him.

Chance mumbled something incoherent as Elizabeth walked up to me on the couch. The dog followed her.

“Hey Jr.” She greeted.

I tried my hardest not to smile up at her.

“How is my favorite cousin?!” She yelled as she laid herself on me and stuck her finger up my nose. Her acrylic nail dug into the side of my nostril. I winced from the pain.

“God damn! It's still Ryan by the way.” I yelled.

“Well Ryan, say that you love me, and I’ll let you go.” She ordered.

I squirmed underneath her and her newly acquired baby fat, trying to escape.

“Fuck! I love you. I love you.” I yelled.

She took her finger out of my nose, and pushed her hand on my stomach to help herself stand.

I groaned.

“I love you too.” She said.

I sighed. She had pulled my earbuds out while tackling me. “I mean, how can I not love you? You practically made me your prison bottom.”

She laughed. “Yeah. I’m glad you recognize that you're my bitch.”

I chuckled. I really did love her, her alone.

The dog sat in between us on the floor. He was really cute. That means a lot coming from me. I don't like dogs, I like this one. 

I stuck my hand out to rub the top of its head and it ducked away from me in fear. 

“Oh Sherlock, don't be such a chicken shit!” Elizabeth yelled as he ran away to the boys. 

“Sherlock?” I asked.

“It was Joseph’s idea.” She said as she left the front room. 

All five of us migrated to the kitchen table. I took out one of my earbuds so I could hear their conversations. 

“Sissy, Where's Joseph?” My father asked Elizabeth. I too was curious about where her husband was.

“Oh, he's still training in Kansas.” She answered.

The whole reason they were living out in the middle of nowhere was because Joseph had been stationed there. The marine and his family had lived in that rectangle for six years, and were finally moving back west. 

I looked down from my gaze at Elizabeth as I felt a tap on my arm even through my sweater. Chance was staring back up at me with those big blue eyes that came from his dad. Those genes definitely didn't run in our family. 

“Ryan!” He called up at me. I ignored him. That was what dad told me to do so that I wouldn't say something I couldn't take back. “Ryan! Ry! Ry! Ryan can you hear me?”

Of course I can hear you. 

My dad made eye contact with me once Elizabeth had turned her back. He snarled at me as if he was about to beat my ass. “Be nice.” He mouthed. 

I rolled my eyes at him and bobbed my head at Chance, asking him “What?”

He obviously didn't understand non-verbal cues and continued whining, “Ryan! Ryan? Ry! Ry!”

Elizabeth sighed and turned towards us. “Chance! Stop yelling! Catch a bubble right now! Can't you see he doesn't want to talk?” She scolded. In that moment her eyes were open wide with anger. I feared that if she opened them anymore the glue keeping her fake lashes on would fix her eyes open.

Chance filled his mouth with air and pushed out his cheeks. He ran over to the couch with his brother, and they had began to play with my dad’s iPad that he had brought out for them.

I laughed at her. “Catch a bubble?” I questioned, “What the fuck does that mean?” 

“That's what we tell the kids at daycare when they won't shut the hell up. They keep air in their mouths and can't talk.”

“Ah, I see.” I didn't see. I didn't know she worked at a daycare.

“So, Uncle George, what are we gonna do today?” She asked.

Dad shrugged. “Shouldn't you at least bring your luggage in before we start making plans?”

“I can do that later. It's just been so long, I want to go somewhere I remember.”

My father leaned over on the kitchen table and thought for a second. “How about we go to the Otay Ranch Mall?” He turned towards me. “It's been a while since we have been there.”

I nodded. 

“Oh yeah! I don't even remember the last time I was there. We need to go.”

“Alright. Just get the boys ready.” My dad suggested. 

***

Twenty manic minutes later, and all of us were in my dads car. The three rowed Honda sat all of us comfortably. My dad was the driver, Elizabeth rode shotgun, and the two boys sat in the middle row. I took the entire back row of the car for myself. I would rather take a bullet to the head than have to sit between those two.

“Mom! Mom! Mama!” Derek called.

“What baby?”

“What's her name?” He pointed his stubby toddler arm at me. I stared at his nails, uncut with dirt underneath their lips, and asymmetrical in shape. God Elizabeth, teach your kids their pronouns and cut their nails. 

“Honey, He’s a boy. His name is Ryan.” She corrected, stressing her voice on he and his. “Sorry Ry. He doesn't know the difference.” 

I nodded. I mean, I did have long hair that was more feminine, but Derek's comments definitely put even more identity questioning thoughts into my mind. 

I watched the street signs pass by as we drove to the mall. Luckily, I had my iPod to drown out the shouting of the kids. Then, I hear my father. “Hey, hey, how about we play a game. It's called be quiet. All you have to do is be quiet and who ever talks first loses. Alright?”

Chance smiled. “Yeah! Start now!”

Everyone kept quiet. Elizabeth was too busy texting to realize any game had started. That was the difference between her and I. I pretended not to know anything because I could use information to my advantage. She didn't know because she never cared enough to pay attention. 

Finally! The car was quiet. It stayed that way until my dad had parked and it was time to get out. 

“Are we here?” She asked as she clicked off her phone for the first time in the 15 minute drive.

“Haha!” Chance screeched loud and sudden enough to make me physically jump. “Mom lost!” 

Derek laughed along. 

“What’d I lose?”

“The quiet game.” Dad answered. 

“Haha! George, you lost!” Chance laughed. 

“Who won then?” She asked.

Everyone turned to the back and stared at me.

“You won the quiet game.” Elizabeth clapped at me. 

“Aw! But Ryan's always quiet!” Chance said with a pout as he opened the car door and, once again, hopped out. 

After a long, punk rock music filled walk through the mall, we found ourselves right back at our car. I didn't buy anything, but i begged Elizabeth not to get her kids those punch-balloons from the Toys-r-us express. They would make so much noise once they had been inflated and- Ugh! Sometimes I questioned whether or not Elizabeth ever really thought about what she did before she did things.

*** 

“Hey, do y’all guys have any toothpicks?” Elizabeth asked in her newly acquired Midwestern accent. 

“Yeah.” My dad answered, “They should be in the cabinets under the bar.”

You know, the bar that displays all of his alcohol on shelves. 

She nodded as she walked over to the bar. She squat down and opened the drawers, peered in and grabbing the ziplock of toothpicks. She took one and put the bag back. I saw the look on her face as she noticed something nostalgic amongst the clutter of the cabinets. 

“Holy shit! Sing star! Ryan, you remember when we used to do this. I used to always beat you.” She laughed

Fuck, I remember. I remember playing the competitive karaoke game, and always losing to her because she cheated by humming the notes instead of actually singing the words. It had been years since I had touched that PS3 game, let alone played it. 

“Well, pop it in.” Dad ordered. “This should be a good rematch.”

She ran over to the tv stand and inserted the disk. I sighed as I heard the whir of the game console. 

“Come on Ry. It'll be fun, I'll let you choose the song.” She said as she handed me the blue microphone. 

I scoffed. “I can pick any song?”

“Yeah. It's not like it'll matter. I'll always beat you.” She taunted as the open screen of the game appeared on the tv. “Singstar pop.”

I laughed and picked up the remote. I selected a one on one game and began to flip through the songs. Each one I skimmed over began to play a preview of the song. The faster I searched, the shorter and funnier sounding the previews got.

Rihanna, SOS, Avril Levine, Sk8r boi, Destiny’s Child, Survivor, Alicia Keys, Fallin’, and Oh my god. Did I read that correctly? My Chemical Romance, Helena. I had completely forgotten that this song was on here. 

“Oh god! Your such an emo loser.” Elizabeth teased as I selected the song. 

I smirked at her, knowing that she had forgotten the lyrics. 

The music video had started to play, funeral and all. “Long ago…”  
I started. There Elizabeth was humming the pitch and matching her volume up with her red bars on the screen. She would never let you know, but she knew all of the words. She remembered them from her adolescence.

“Burning on! Just like the match you strike to incinerate the lives of everyone you know. What's the worst you say to every heart you break? And like a blade you stain. Well I'll be holding on tonight!” 

I had fully given in to the music. My dad and Elizabeth watched as I sang my heart out into that cheap, nine year old microphone. I truly felt as if I was living my dream in that moment, performing on stage, entertaining a crowd with my voice. 

“And if you carry on this way, things are better if I stay. So long, goodnight. So long, and goodnight.” I finish the song. The sweat dripped down my face as my lungs and cheeks could finally relax. This was my dream, but I knew I could never make it happen. I had the talent and potential, but I was too awkward to be a rockstar. Plus, all the world needs is another whiny white kid complaining about his problems over loud guitar music. I'd be much more useful in this world helping people with their problems on a more personal level. Being a therapist was just more practical. Besides, they're called dreams because they're only meant to happen in your head. 

The results of the game appeared on the screen, but I was too busy enjoying my standing ovation from Elizabeth and my dad to notice. Even through my already red face, I could feel myself flush. 

“Where the fuck is Ryan and what have you done to him?” She laughed as she punched my arm. 

I shrugged and sat back down, placed my earbuds back in and acted as if nothing happened. 

“So that's it?” She asked. “You're just done? That's all your gonna sing?”

“Yup.” I answered matter-of-factly. 

She pouted and began to wrap up her microphone. She turned off the play station and turn the news back on. Fucking news. From the kitchen I could hear my dad yawn. 

“I'm gonna go to bed. Ryan, don't stay up too late, were going to that museum tomorrow. Alright?” He ordered. 

I nodded as he walked up the stairs.

***

The next morning, I woke up to my dad poking me on the back of my head.

“Wake up, we’re leaving in an hour.” He reminded. 

Once he had left, I had gotten up and dressed myself. I wasn't wearing anything special, just a t-shirt, jacket, and jeans, just like every other day. In the kitchen, Elizabeth was dressed in a one piece denim dress that looked like it was made in a barn. God. Kansas changed her so much.

The boys were on the couch watching a cartoon and eating gummy snacks. Just seconds after I had made it down the stairs, my dad had followed and grabbed his car keys off the hook. 

“Everybody ready?” He asked.

“Yeah.” Elizabeth replied as she stood up and slid on her sandals. “Come on boys.”

They stood up and walked over to us. We all got into the car the same way as we had the day before. I waited for the conversation to start. 

“So where exactly are we going?” Elizabeth asked. 

“Uh, it's called the Leroy Family Museum. I've never even heard about it before I found it online the other day.”

“What's so special about the Leroy family?” 

I thought the exact same thing.

“I don't know. Let's see. I just hope they'll be a good story behind them.”

Elizabeth laughed. 

20 minutes later, we pulled up in front of the mountain-top mansion. Dad parked the car right in front of the house. The dirt crunched under my Vans as I took a step closer to read the sign in front of the grass lawn. 

“Leroy Family Museum. Est. 1976.” 

Once everyone was out of the car, the man that had been sitting in a lawn chair in the driveway stood up and began to greet me. 

“Howdy. Would y'all like a tour of the house?” He asked. 

I was scared by him and his flannel shirt, and his white Gandalf beard, and his beer gut that hung over his belt. It doesn't take a lot for a person to scare me. I shrugged at him and pointed to my dad. 

“Um, yes if you don't mind.” He answered. 

“Alrighty. That’ll be $5 per person. $2 for the little ones.” 

My dad scoffed, then reluctantly pulled out his wallet and handed the man a twenty dollar bill. 

“Keep the change.”

“In we go!” He yelled as he pocketed the cash. 

We all followed him into the house. 

“Now, lovely family, this house is not only my place of residence, but it's also a museum and a gift shop. Yep, you heard me right, if you see any relic or antique that you like, I'll negotiate a price for you. Please do not touch anything unless you intend to buy it. Let's have some fun.” He began.

We started down the hallways. I barely paid attention to the stories the guide was explaining to us. The walls were filled with old pictures of men, women and children. All in black and white. The entire house had an old-timey smell that reminded me of an old book. 

Room by room we went as the man explained the significance of every little object on the shelves. This man was boring me half to death and my dad had snapped at me for trying to drown him out with music. I could tell he wasn't getting any ideas from the place. Serves him right. The man was so boring, that even Elizabeth had to hold the boys hands so they wouldn't wander away and break something that she couldn't afford to buy. 

It was finally when he took us into the hallway that the tour got interesting. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a door with a standing sign that read, “Witness the Leroy Ghost Boy.”

I hesitated before speaking. “Can we see the ghost?” I ask, pointing down the hall. 

The mans eyes light up. “Oh boy, I thought you'd never ask. Bert here is our main attraction. It’ll just be a dollar each.” 

I looked up at my dad, making sure there was want in my eyes. 

He sighed, and again, pulled out $5 from his wallet and handed it to the man. 

He hobbled over to the door, leading us. He unlocked the door with a key and yelled, “Behold! The ghost boy.” as he opened it.

We all went into the room, not knowing what to expect. The only things in the room were a chair with a small jar underneath it. 

“Just look around a bit, maybe you'll be lucky enough to see him. He doesn't talk much to older people, but he loves the kids.”

I tried walking around the room. I saw the terrified expressions on Chance and Derek's faces. “Mom, Idon'twanttoseeaghost.” He spat out so quickly that it sounded like all one word. 

“It's okay baby, you're safe.” She soothed.

“I'm not seeing anything.” My dad announced. “Did you just scam us?” 

The man sputtered. “No sir, I've seen him with my own eyes. He's just shy. 

I shook my head as I walked through the door. In that moment, I saw the translucent face of a young man my age pop out in front of me. He was crying and he let out a scream that knocked me flat on my ass. 

“Help! Please! Get me out of here!” He begged. “You need to get me out.” 

I felt his hand grab at my arm. I ripped my arm away from him with a scream.

“Woah, woah, woah.” My dad yelled as he ran over to me. 

The ghost turned to my father and disappeared. I laid there on the floor squirming and yelling. 

“Ryan, it's okay. Stop.” My dad grabbed me by my sides and held my arms in place. As I caught my breath and calmed myself down, I saw Chance and Derek crying into Elizabeth's legs, shielding their eyes from the ghost. 

He reached for my hand to pull me up. “Are you okay? What did you see.” He asked.

I was still shaken from what just happened and couldn't even stand to stay in that room. Without a word I ran out of the house and to the car. I stood outside of the car and leaned up against it. I had never smoked before, but I felt that I needed the release that I thought a cigarette would give me. 

I had never really believed in ghosts. My dad and I are atheists. There was no logical explanation for spirits, but what I saw was real. That guy was in my face. I heard his voice. I felt his touch. 

Soon after I had caught my breath again, Elizabeth, the boys and my dad came out of the house as well. The second the car was unlocked, I jumped into the back and sat up. This time, I had turned the volume in my earbuds up all the way. I didn't want to talk to anyone and have to answer their questions. 

I locked myself in my room for the rest of the day, still not wanting to speak. Hopefully the next day my dad would have forgotten about it. 

***  
After taking my shower, I walked out of the bathroom in a fresh set of clothes. I opened my bedroom door to find my dad waiting for me in my room. 

“Hello?” I greeted him. 

He patted the bed for me to sit next to him. 

“I got you a surprise.” He said.

“Okay…”

He reached behind him and pulled out the little jar that was set underneath the chair in the museum. 

“What is it?” I asked him as he handed it to me.

“Careful. It's an urn.”

“Why would I want an urn?” 

“Because your gonna help me write my next story.”

I was so confused.

“The man at the museum yesterday said that the boys spirit was tied to his ashes. So, I bought the urn from him. We have that boys ghost in this jar. How cool is that? I mean he would only talked to you yesterday so maybe you could-” The smile on his face was inappropriately large.

I knew what he was going to say. I knew what he wanted me to do. “Are you kidding me dad? Your just a sad, desperate, sellout writer. You seriously want me to talk to a “ghost” so I can learn all about him and you can make money off of his life. Do you know how scared I was yesterday just seeing him for five seconds?” 

He was still optimistic somehow. “That's why I want you to get to know him, be his friend. You could use a friend.” 

“No. I can't do that. You can't just use him. Move on. Make up your own fucking stories.” 

The expression on his face was shocked and hurt. I felt bad for cursing at him like that, but he needed to hear the truth. He stood up and walked out of my room. I watched him leave the urn on my desk. 

Even though I had just woken up, this whole ordeal had made me tired again. I had fallen asleep to the music playing in my ears. 

The light from the moving sun was what woke me. I stretched my arms and opened my eyes. I screamed as I saw the ghost laying on my bed, staring back up at me.

I jumped up and ran to the corner of my room. 

“Hey, hey, hey. It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you.” He said as he came closer and crouched in front of me. 

“Don't you fucking touch me.” I said as I grabbed a stray hanger to defend myself with. 

“Ok. Alright.” He said as he lifted his see-through hands in the air. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

He sighed a flamboyant sigh. “Your dad brought me here when he stole my ashes.”

I sighed. “He stole you?” 

“Yeah. Don't be so upset. He did me a favor.” He said as he sat down on my bed. 

“I'm mad because he wants to use you. You heard him, he wants me to learn your story so he can write a book and make money off of it. You'd get nothing. That's not fair to you.” I explained, standing back up and pulling myself a chair in front of the ghost. 

“I mean, what do I have to get. I'm kinda dead. Besides, sharing my story with you would be the least I could do. You got me out of that museum. Now you can free me and I'll get to move on to bigger better things.”

“Bigger better things, meaning heaven?” I asked.

“I hope.” His eyes wandered around my room.

“So Bert,”

“Brendon.” He corrected.

“Okay, Brandon.”

“No, not Brandon. Brendon with and e.”

“Oh. Sorry. So, Brendon with an e, tell me about yourself, if you want, I guess.”

He laid back with his feet on the end of my bed and his hands folded over his stomach. “What do you want to know?” He asked.

From what I could tell, Brendon sounded like he used to be the life of the party. I could picture him as the one who everyone got along with and you couldn't stay mad at for too long. The clothes he wore made him out to be a real handsome gentleman, a scholar perhaps. 

“When are you from?” I asked him.

“I was born in 1954, and I died in 1973.”

“Oh, a seventies ghost.” I laugh.

He smiled at me.

“How did you die?”

His smile faded as he took the time to think of a response. “I don't actually know how I died. I just kinda fell asleep one night and didn't wake up.”

“That's terrible.” I consoled.

“Yeah.” He nervously kicked at my bed frame. 

“What did you like to do when you were alive?”

“I loved to sing.” He said. “I wanted to be the next John Lennon or Frank Sinatra.”

“Yeah?” I chuckled, “Were you any good?” 

“I thought so.” He had folded one arm across his chest and perch his other on the side of his face.

I didn't know why I was smiling as much as I had. There was just something about Brendon that didn't scare me as much as other people did. I couldn't tell if it was because he wasn't alive. I was terrified of living people. The fact that Brendon was just so new and open to me was comforting. 

“What's it like being dead?” I asked. 

“It’s real cold, all the time. But there's just always a part of me, my soul I guess, that just stings. It's turning black and poisonous, I can tell. I guess I'm not supposed to be here anymore, so that burning is my punishment. It’s… painful. That's why when you get all of the information from me for your dad, I'd like you to release me.”

I shriveled my eyebrows. “Release you? How am I supposed to do that?” 

He shrugged. “It'd be best if you just scattered my ashes in a river or something. I think the only thing thats tying me to earth is my ashes.”

I looked over at his urn on my desk. Damn, I thought I'd be able to have a real long term friend for once. “Um, okay. If that'll help you, I can make it happen.” 

He smiled. “Thanks, Ryan, is it?”

I nodded.

“That'll be the best thing anyone has ever done for me.” 

***

Brendon had followed me around for the rest of the day and the following morning. I suppose that he only made himself visible to me seeing as neither Elizabeth, the boys, or my dad had said anything about the new dude just floating around next to me. 

“Boo! I'm a ghost.” Elizabeth yelled as she came up from behind me and grabbed at my neck. Her hands were cold from the beer bottle she had been holding. 

I jumped. “Not funny.”

“Then why am I laughing?” She cackled.

“Because you're a twisted bitch!” Brendon sassed.

I laughed so hard that my stomach began to hurt. 

“What’re you laughing at.”

Shit. I'd forgotten that she couldn't hear Brendon. “Nothing.”

“I'm bored, and I'm hungry.” She announced loud enough for all nine realms to hear. “Wanna go to Denny's? We can talk a bit, catch up.”

I checked the time on my phone. 1:38 am. “Right now?” I asked. “It's past midnight.”

“Exactly it's morning time, time for breakfast.” She tried to justify. “Come on, I just want to spend time with my cousin. I'll leave the kids with your dad. They're asleep already.”

“I don't know. How many beers have you had?” 

“Not enough. Don't worry, I can drive. Are you seriously going to make me waste a full face of makeup because you're stressing about breaking the law or dying?” She joked. 

I looked over at Brendon, my eyes asking for advice. 

“I'll go.” He chirped. 

“Alright.” I stood up from my seat, “Let's go.” I tucked my phone into the ass pocket of my pants.

She squealed as she grabbed her car keys and ran to the door. 

After a turbulent car ride in her mom van, we found ourselves in the Denny's parking lot. The people hiding in the shadows just out of view of the lights terrified me. 

Suddenly, I felt something wet grabbing my hand. I looked down with a jump and saw Brendon’s cold hand wrapped around mine. 

“Don't be scared, you're safe.” He soothed.

I nervously grinned.

He held onto me as we walked through the entrance, passing the waitress who was taking a smoke break outside with her three family members that were waiting to take her home. 

We held hands as Elizabeth told the hostess that we wanted a table for two, and as we passed the young man sitting in a booth with his four empty cups of coffee all lined up in a row in front of him on our way to our table. He stared back at me as if to ask if I was the person he was waiting for.

The hostess left us with the menus on our tables and we all sat down. Elizabeth gave me a weird look as I sat all the way on the edge of the booth and patted on the seat I had left for Brendon. God, I really have to remember that she can't see him.

We both opened our menus. I flipped through the pages, scanning the pictures of all of the different pancakes. I opened the menus enough for Brendon to see too. 

“Those look good.” He said as he pointed his finger at the caramel banana pancakes.

I nodded.

“What are you going to get?” Elizabeth asked, closing her menu.

Why do people always ask that? Can't they just wait until the waitress comes around, and I'll say what I want then?

I turn my menu to face her and point at the same pancakes that Brendon had showed me, sliding the menu along with my finger. 

“Nice!”

***  
The waitress came around and of course we both ordered. Almost an hour later our food had finally came. That food took so long that the dude with the coffee’s friend had came up to his table, and left with him. 

The pancakes were delicious. Every once in a while Brendon would laugh at me because the white frosting in the pancakes spilled out onto the side of my mouth and made me look less than innocent. 

***

By the time we had gotten home, it was 3:30 am. I was exhausted and went to my room without even speaking to Elizabeth as we walked into the house. 

I rid myself of my shirt and slammed myself onto my bed all without realizing that Brendon had been watching me. Normally I'd want to keep myself covered around guys like him, but he was different. 

“You can sleep in my bed.” I offered. 

He walked over to the bed and laid down on his side, pulling a stray cover over himself. 

“Can you even sleep?” I asked.

“Not really.” He laughed.

“Oh well. You can still stay.”

He nodded just before I closed my eyes and fell asleep. 

The next morning, I found myself in the shower wondering where Brendon was. He hadn't woken up next to me, but I wasn't worried. He couldn't have gotten that far. His ashes wouldn't allow it. 

I jumped when the water coming from the pipe scorched my back. With nothing else to do as I lathered my hair, I hummed. Then the humming turned to singing.

“Hey Jude. Don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better.  
Remember, to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better. Hey Jude. Don't let me down. You have found her, now go and get her. Remember to let her under your skin, then you'll begin to make it better.”

I paused for a second to catch his breath, not expecting for Brendon to be on the other side of the shower curtain ready to pick up the next verse. 

“And anytime you feel the pain, Hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it's a fool. Who plays it cool. By making his world a little colder.” His voice was the vocal equivalent of heroin. The way he could dip up and down to reach high and low notes was spectacular.

“Nah, nah nah, nah nah, nah nah, nah nah.” We both finished. 

“Shit!” I shouted over the noise of the water. “You can sing.”

“You can too.” He complimented.

***

By around 11:00 am, my dad was in the kitchen, Brendon and I were on the couch, Elizabeth was on the table and the kids were upstairs watching tv. 

“Hey Liz, are you doing anything today?”

She looked up from her phone. “No why?”

“Because I got Ryan a present.” 

“No.” I blurted, “not another one.”

“You'll like this one.” He said as he reached into his wallet, pulling out ten $100 bills. He walked over to me and placed them on my lap. “Go buy your guitar.” He ordered. 

I scrambled with the money in my lap, hardly believing that it actually existed. “Are you for real?” I asked.

“I'm the fucking realist. Now go get it before I change my mind. Elizabeth, will you take him?”

“Of course! I wanna see which one he picks out.”

I had been talking for years about how I wanted to start playing the guitar. It was so shocking that my dad had finally scooped up enough money for it to happen. I stood up and strangled my dad into a hug. “Thank you!” I yelled.

He patted me on the back before pulling away. “I'll watch the boys so you can go alone. I'll be in my office if you need me.” He said as he walked up stairs.

*** 

Elizabeth and I rode off to Guitar Center with my dads money in my back pocket and Brendon in the back seat. I couldn't stop myself from squealing the entire way there. My childhood dream was about to be come true, and I was so ready. 

I didn't have any idea of what kind of guitar I wanted. I would take whatever I could get, but because I had an extended budget, i wanted to spoil myself. 

We started on one end of the store and made our way to the other. I checked out the telecasters, the stratocasters, the other Fenders, Gibson and pretty much everything in between. God, I'm so bad with choices. Brendon was speechless the entire time.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him walking over to the Epiphones. He fiddled with the price tag of the neon yellow Les Paul. It's a little out there, but there's something about it that I love. It might have just been because Brendon picked it, and I was sick of being so indecisive. 

“It's only $650.” He shouted to me over the sound of the guy across the store shredding on one of the amps. 

It was bad ass looking and well within my budget. It still left me enough money for a strap, an amp, and a stand. I walked over to it, took it off the display, strummed it in its vertical position and said, “This one.”

***

“Let me see!” My dad shouted as soon as he heard us walking through the door. 

I ran over to show him, making sure I didn't bang the neck up against anything on accident. The sales woman told me that if you broke the neck on a Les Paul then the guitar was pretty much done for. 

“Wow, that's a color.” He scoffed. I could tell he was drunk.

“Yup.”

“Well, come on Hendrix, play me something.”

“I can't.”

“Then why'd you get a guitar?”

I rolled my eyes. On my way up stairs, I grabbed the rest of my stuff and brought it all up to my room, closing my door behind us.

Once I had the guitar plugged into the amp, I had just been plucking random strings, and skinning my fingertips raw.

I knew Brendon was watching me.

Eventually, I had gotten frustrated at my inability to play anything, so I set the guitar on its stand. Then, we just sat on my bed, staring at each other. 

“So,” I started just to break the silence, “What do you miss about being alive?”

He smiled in thought. “Sarah. She was my girlfriend. I miss her, and her signature Sarah smile, and her Farrah Fawcett hair, and her beautiful soul. Ugh.” He sighed. “I would take a bullet for her. I had boughten her an engagement ring, but I died before I ever got the chance to give it to her.”

“That's awful.” I consoled, leaning up against the wall and the edge of my bed. 

“You know what else I miss?” He asked 

“What?”

Brendon began shifting towards me, reaching out for me with his hand. Before I had the time to see what he was doing, I felt his icy hand sliding through my chest, like water flowing through my sternum and wrapping around my heart. My entire body shuddered at the sensation. 

“This. I miss having a heart.” We both sat in silence taking in my pulse. My strong, accelerated pulse. “It's adorable how it just keeps beating and beating.”

He looked up at me with the most optimistic smile I had ever seen. In that moment, he made me feel useful. I was his proxy heartbeat. I was giving him something to be happy about again. I was giving him life. 

These thoughts all flooded my brain enough to make me not realize that he had been kissing me. The close proximity of my face to his and the connection we were sharing in that moment was all so perfect. I tried wrapping my hand around his jaw. My hand fell through him, making him giggle into my mouth. And we sat there, two kissing fools laughing.

He finally pulled away. The warmth that came back to my lips the second he did felt like the swelling you get from taking a punch. “As much as I wanted to marry Sarah, I must say, you are a much better kisser.”

I was shocked. I didn't realize that what had just happened was real. It wasn't some fantasy that I had created and played over and over again in my mind. 

“Thank you.” I exhaled.

***

Three days had gone by. They were cold, rainy, and uneventful, only filled with Elizabeth, the boys, and my father watching reruns of the golden girls while Brendon and I practiced my guitar and talked in my bedroom. 

As much as I wanted to hear about his past, I knew that the more he shared, the sooner he would want leave. I dreaded the day that I would have to disperse his ashes. 

Friday night came around. He and I curled up together on my bed. Even though my jacket I felt his cool form beside me. 

As I began nodding off to sleep, I opened my eyes when I hear the harrowing moan that came from Brendon. He clenched his hands around his head. 

“Shit! Are you okay?” I asked, panicking.

“No.” He grunted, almost gagging. “I shouldn't be here. I know I said I'd help you, and I really want to, but you’re just taking too long. I need you to let me free.”

In the time I took to process his request, all I could hear were his watery wheezes. The only way I could describe his pain was that he looked like he was having contractions, and I couldn't help him. I didn't want him to leave. He was all I had, my only friend.

“I-I.” Shit. Spit it out Ryan! “I… can't.” I was crying. I could feel the blood rushing to my face and my skin getting warm. 

The look on his face showed disappointment. We had a deal, and I couldn't hold up my end of the bargain. Even though I had never intended to help my dad, I still wanted to be his friend. I mean, he kissed me. Nothing I do will ever be enough to repay him for how great he made me feel. 

“I love you. I love you so much. I don't want you to leave.” My voice had winey undertones beneath all of the hurt. 

He stood up and braced himself on my bed frame. He looked faint and lightheaded. “Well,” a drop of ghost saliva fell from his mouth, “if you love me let me go.” I saw his ankle roll from weakness just before he collapsed to the ground and began to fade away. 

“No!” I screamed as I dropped down to the floor. My hands grabbing at the floor trying to find Brendon, my face wet from all of the tears. 

“No! No, No, No!” I yelled. Curling up where he had fallen, pressing and sliding my hand against the floor.

I felt the vibration in the ground. Someone was running towards my room. The door opened. 

“What happened?” Elizabeth asked. 

I didn't look up at her. “He's gone!”

“Who's gone?” She ran over to me and squat on the floor.

“Brendon.”

“Who?”

“The fucking ghost! He's gone because of me! It's my fault! He was in pain and I didn't listen.”

She didn't say anything. She just rubbed my back and watched me break down. I couldn't conjure enough strength to tell her to leave. I just needed a moment. 

After nearly ten minutes, she told me to stay put while she went and got my dad. The instant she left the room, I spotted the urn on my desk. 

Brendon’s words kept replaying in my head. 

“If you love me let me go.”

“If you love me let me go.”

“If you love me let me go.”

Before I knew it, I had grabbed his urn and was running to the front door. 

It was pouring outside. The streets were almost flooded in 1 inch deep waters, but that didn't matter. I grasped the urn to my chest and began running through the rain. My socks were soaked, but I didn't care. I needed to save Brendon. I ran, and I ran, and I ran until I hit the gazebo. 

I sat under the roof, hoping to prevent anymore damage from happening to Brendon's ashes. The view from where I stood was all grey. Not even the dead yellow bushes could be seen through the condensation. But as I stared out into the distance, I remembered what should have been there: The hibiscus bush. 

Behind that hibiscus bush was the East Lake. Perfect, water. 

I ran down the hill to the lake, my ankle almost giving out as I slipped in the rain. I could feel the urn in my arms bouncing up and down. 

The edge of the water stood at my feet as I finally approached the lake. I stared into the sky. The white light that shone down on me made my eyes sting. Then I looked down at the water. My rippled reflection peered back up at me. 

With my hair curling up and clinging to my forehead, my underwear and the legs of my pants becoming uncomfortably tight from the water, I opened the lid of the urn. Brendon's zinc colored ashes stared back at me. The tiny particles of bone sticking out of the jar sent a chill down my back. Droplets of rain settled onto the surface of the powder, mixing in with Brendon's remains. I realized that it was time. 

I stuck my hand into the jar. I felt the ashes getting stuck under my fingernails. Small trickles of Brendon blew away in the wind as I stuck my hand out above the water. 

I began to sprinkle him in. Handful after handful, the water beneath me grew cloudy. Once the jar was empty, I stepped into the lake and kicked the water around, mixing him in, trying to disperse him among the rest of the water. 

What did it matter? My shoes were already soaked.

There I stood crying in the rain. Screaming and yelling out into the isolation. I fell to my knees in hysteria. “Brendon! I miss you!” I waded my way farther into the lake. The water rose higher and higher, eventually up to my neck. 

I plunged my head underwater, letting out all of my air in attempts to make myself sink. My eyes stung when I opened them, not just because of the unfiltered water that was soaking them, but because of the figure that floated just in front of me. Brendon. 

He swam up close to me, wrapping his arms around me, trapping me in a subzero last caress.

His hair floated in the water. I took every single lock in again for the last time. 

I knew what would happen. He would be gone when I looked again. So I closed my eyes because there's only so much I can take.


End file.
